Break The Rules
by suchabeautifulday
Summary: Based on the *hinted* slashy relationship between Lewis Kiniski and Oswald Harvey from The Drew Carey Show. I changed the names a while ago when I showed it to my teacher, and forgot to change them back before uploading so sorry for the confusion.


_**Break The Rules**_

The comforting golden glow of the sun sinks lower in the sky and the predatory calls of nocturnal creatures begin to echo around the street. A chill wind whispers in the leaves of surrounding trees, rumpling my shirt and bringing goose bumps to my bare skin. I lean against the banister surrounding my balcony, the unforgiving surface numbing my forearms instantly as they take my weight. Breathing in the fresh night air deeply, I gaze around at the neighbouring houses, blank and bare beyond recognition in the dim light. It is dull and impersonal and quiet – too quiet. A hesitant smile graces my lips as I realise it won't stay quiet for much longer.

'Too clean?'

The familiar deep tone I've been waiting for rings out behind me and my smile widens genuinely. I don't turn around, purposefully staring straight ahead but not focusing on anything other than the presence behind me that I can sense is moving closer.

'What's that?' I question simply, and I am proud my voice hasn't betrayed my barely-contained excitement.

A low chuckle and his fingers brush my spine through my clothing, dancing delicately down to the hem before vanishing again. 'The air.'

Unconsciously arching back, searching for his tantalizing touch, I frown. 'I –'

'Cigarette?'

The cardboard box is thrust into my face before I have the chance to reply, but he knows me too well. Careful not to brush against him in any way, I slide open the packet and pull out a cigarette. Placing the end into my mouth, I search for my lighter, but, again too quick for me, the flame of his own lighter licks against the end of the white tube and I suck in the burst of nicotine like a dying man in the desert at an oasis. My eyes flutter briefly closed with pleasure, which only increases as he steps even closer, pressing his chest against my back. Heat spreads through my body, chasing away the evening chill instantaneously, and I long to lean back into him, but know I daren't. I can't risk exposing myself too much, scaring him away, because without him I don't know what I'd do. For now, I am happy to play by his rules.

Gently, his chin rests upon my shoulder, our cheeks never quite touching, every movement planned and measured correctly. His long arm trails casually around my torso, bringing his own cigarette to his mouth and breathing in deeply. My cigarette is decreasing fast, broken down by my short, erratic drags, the situation exhilarating and terrifying me all at once. I stub out the remains, the filter crumbling beneath my fingers, and with barely a shift in position, he is offering the packet again, happy to draw this out for as long as it takes, until his patience wears thin. I accept a second cigarette gratefully, light up and wait. It isn't my place to start a conversation. I don't know the script.

It takes one more cigarette before he places an arm around my waist, and I can't resist grinding back into his groin, desperate for friction, for a positive response. Instantly I know it is a mistake, as his body tenses against mine, his grip tightening on my hip, silently warning me. I relent reluctantly, pulling away, moodily taking another drag, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. My punishment is a longer wait, and I'm not surprised to hear him shake out another cigarette.

It is at the end of this one that it happens. I'd begun to think perhaps he was going to leave without saying another word, let alone anything else, when he lightly teases my half-smoked cigarette out of my hand and drops it to the ground, along with his own, where he grinds them out with a well-practised toe twist. My breathing hitches slightly as his free arm also winds its way around my body, meeting its partner in the middle. His rough lips, abused by its many years of smoking, feel divine as they graze my cheek, slowly dropping butterfly kisses along my jaw-line. He is granting me with the pleasure of experiencing the soft, romantic side that so few people recognise, and that he knows I love, but then his hands grasp my shoulders and he's transformed into the urgent, powerful persona that I so lust.

Using unnecessary force, he pulls me round to face him and suddenly his lips are on mine, bruising, surely, with the passion. I respond eagerly, our lips moulding perfectly, massaging together. His hands are pressed into my back, occasionally rubbing up and down in a way that leaves my skin tingling and desiring more contact. His tongue slides along my bottom lip, asking for entry, and I gladly widen my mouth, relishing the heat on the cold night as our tongues dance together, my arms raising of their own accord and clasping around his neck, my fingers twisting in his curls, playing with the sensitive hairs on his ears and at the back of his neck. I need to feel his skin all around me, desperately trying to meld our bodies even closer, failing, but not caring because he tastes so good and right now I can't remember a time when he isn't here and giving me exactly what I want.

A light pressure in the wrong place and we are breaking apart, two separate beings again. My gaze catches his in the half-light, dark and guarded, and I flush as I realise I'd gotten too carried away. Silently cursing my inability to appreciate what a good thing I had without ruining it, I merely stand still and wait, not daring to look him in the eyes anymore, like a naughty schoolboy awaiting his punishment in the principal's office.

I'm aware of him moving away from me, but not far enough to cause panic. A light chink and the unmistakeable sound of flowing liquid, and seconds later he's pushing a glass into my hand, half-full with some sort of concoction I don't recognise.

'Drink.'

It's not a request.

Without thinking, I gulp stupidly, gasping as the strength hits me and I realise my mistake. He stands close by me, watching me in an almost amused way over the top of his glass, and I blush again, coyly circling the rim of my glass with a wet finger. A low, mournful tune rings out, perfect for the setting and the ruined mood.

Despite my fumbling actions, he still hasn't left, and this fact buoys my confidence. I'm aware he's watching me as a teacher might eye a promising student, working out how best to mould me into the perfect specimen, and this thought sends a thrill through my body. He could do anything to me, physically and emotionally, and I'd forgive him, beg for him back, even. I realise this isn't a new idea – I've known it since the first day I met him, but it still deserves a healthy dose of fresh self-loathing.

I finish my drink and chance a glance at the tall, slender beauty before me. A lust-filled sigh leaves my lips without my permission, but as I hasten to mentally chastise myself, I notice he's laughing again. Apparently, my ineptitude tonight is amusing, rather than dangerous.

Mirroring his own movements of mere moments earlier, he disposes of our glasses and places his hands on my shoulders. This time, he plants a sweet, chaste kiss on my hungry lips, granting me with nothing more before turning away again. He strides to the edge of my balcony, resting one palm lightly on the wooden fencing and gazing out, looking at god only knows what. He's a man of mystery, unable to be tamed, and I think this might be the reason he excites me so much. Maybe.

When he talks his voice is even throatier than usual from the combined smoke, drink and night air. 'Tell me what you were thinking about before I arrived. When you were stood just here.'

For the moment all I can think of is him and how much I want him. To give myself more time to think, I shuffle over to stand beside him, as if I'm joined to him by a line and he's slowly but surely reeling me in. In a way, I suppose he is.

Forcing my mind back to the moments before his arrival, I take a deep breath and try and work out how to explain. 'I was thinking about … leaving. With you. Getting away from this boring street, with these boring houses and boring people, living their everyday lives in an everyday way, everyday.'

I shake my head at the confusing sentence and try a different direction. 'When I was younger, I always dreamt of travelling the world. I wanted to visit the Australian outback and see venomous snakes and alligators ten metres long and fully grown kangaroos intent on protecting their young and be scared witless. I wanted to go to Africa and meet the local people and learn about their culture and see their poverty with my own eyes and be forced to tears every day. I wanted to go to Greece and ride a donkey and swim in the sea and lie on the beach all day and be bored senseless. I wanted to go to England and wave at Buckingham Palace, I wanted to go to Japan and ride a bike around the city streets, I wanted to go to New Zealand and just run through fields all day and all night. I wanted to go to Iceland to see the Northern Lights, and go backpacking in Germany and climb mountains in Switzerland. I wanted to go to fucking America and eat a hamburger!'

I hear him laugh and become conscious I'm closer than I realised as his voice box vibrates through my body. Gathering all my courage, I reach out and place my hand on top of his, lacing our fingers together. He stops laughing, but doesn't pull away, instead turning until we're staring into each other's eyes. I can tell he's not in control anymore, unsure as to where this is going and this information spurs me on.

'But then I met you, and I knew I wouldn't want to do any of that with anyone but you. I want – no, I _need_ us to be able to go around in public. I _need_ there to be more to this than random meetings on my balcony in the freezing cold, waiting until it's dark so no one can see. I need to believe there's more to this than what you're giving me right now, because if there isn't, you have to let me go. It hurts too much to just get pushed aside when you don't need me, like I'm second best.'

I don't realise I'm crying until the drop of salty liquid pools onto our linked hands. Taking a moment to steady my breath, I strengthen my gaze, telling him in no uncertain terms that I'm serious. 'If you want to walk away now, then I'm fine with that. But before you go, I have to tell you that from the bottom of my heart, forever and always, I love you, Ryan Stiles.'

It was definitely the hardest thing I've ever had to say in my life, but I don't regret it. This has carried on for too long now, and I need a straight answer. There will never be another Ryan, but there will be someone to keep me company when I need them – and I'll never make them feel second best. I know how it feels, and I never want to inflict that on another human being.

He pulls his hand out from under mine and I know I've blown it, and despite my earlier assurances that I'd be fine without him, it hits me like a hammer blow that I'm never going to see him again, never going to kiss those lips, never going to hear him murmur my name with such passion –

He's smiling, his deep, emerald eyes glittering with the challenge I'd presented. Reaching up, he ever so slightly wipes the tears from my cheeks, cupping my chin with one large palm and gazing straight at me. I shiver very slightly, feeling my heart beating, rapidly, painfully, and my resolve weakens as I take in his chiselled cheekbones, strong jaw-line, curving to those hard lips that had before met mine with such blazing fervour. It's a moment I don't think I'll ever forget and one I'd never thought would happen simultaneously as he leans down to whisper in my ear, 'I love you too, Colin Mochrie.'

Without hesitating, I fling my arms around him and squeeze him tight, laughing with him this time, knowing I've finally won the battle and he's all mine. I'd thought it was all over, but it's only just beginning.


End file.
